


Soul Cage

by fangwulf



Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: Mild Language, Spoilers to episode 99
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23950177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangwulf/pseuds/fangwulf
Summary: From the journal of Erdan the Strange, Necromancer of Gladeholm...
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12





	Soul Cage

_From the journal of Erdan the Strange, Necromancer of Gladeholm, after his death, on the eve of the Battle against Thiala_

I arrive at Shadowfell after the destruction of my mortal shell and the felling of the Horseman of Plague. In truth, I waited in Bubbles until after the battle to see if Qwiksus could be raised, but it was all for naught. I had, indeed, murdered my friend to the point where he could no longer be brought back. My heart hurt to imagine it. 

It was a surprise to feel him shove his head under my hand in spectral form. But I do believe he knew I would not hurt him any more. Or perhaps he did not remember the moment. It was a cruelty, truly, of the Horseman to share that memory with me. To let me feel that pain, as I corrupted and murdered my friend.

I truly need to stop saying “I”. It was my body, yes, but it was not me. I still feel responsible, though, as if I could have somehow controlled my fate. Perhaps that is why I am here, in the realm of atonement. For my guilt over the friends I had hurt. I was told Lord Stormborn (I can see her relation to Hardwon, as those are QUITE impressive quads!) was taking care of the souls that died in Bahumia after the Apocalypse. Until we could move on properly.

What kind of afterlife waited for someone like me?

Did Lucanus miss me at all?

Did he mourn me?

Did anyone other than the Paladin?

Lord Stormborn is a good leader. Truly, the best Shadowfell has ever had (although that is not saying much). One of her Shadowguard had tea on (I requested coffee, but it just came out as some sort of dark tea. Something to get used to, I suppose). Qwiksus, too, seemed incredibly worried that he'd hurt the heroes of Bahumia. I told him no, but I do believe that he did not believe me. I told the truth, however. It was not him. 

I can tell he suspects my guilt for something. I cannot look my friend straight in the face, nor can I keep prolonged contact with him. It is a good thing he is making friends with the undead. They have even started a small horde for him of the shiniest things they can. Not much in the way of gold, or even bronze, but armor, older weapons, things they could gather together. It is quite kind, that they are being so supportive of him. He deserves it, after all he has been through.

Not everyone is so pleasant, however. There is a foul-mouthed rat man who lives here that threatened me when I arrived. Something about how I had yelled at Beverly, and about how I was creepy. I told him I was a ghost, and that we were all creepy, but he just held up two clawed fingers, pointed them to his eyes, then pointed them to me. A bear (an actual, spectral bear) repeated the gesture.

Well, welcome to Shadowfell, I suppose.

Other than that, however, Lord Stormborn had made a difference with this place. When I had been here last, with the Grave Robbers, it had been quite cruel and messy. Those who had been here did not truly deserve to be here. There were Vampires enslaving entire populations. There were werewolves chewing on the remains. The reptiles of the lakes and streams, and the undead monstrous and vile. The souls of murdered children left to their own devices to devour or be devoured. And of course, either Demon or Galad Roselle (although I am uncertain which is worse) at the grimy, dark helm.

Now, there seems to be organization. Under the watchful eye of Beverly Toegold the Fourth (he, too, looked as if he did not trust me, but in his defense I had tried to kill his son), things had some semblance of control. The Shadowguard now is not just some mess of the biggest and toughest looking undead. It is a well organized pack of strategic warriors, of mages and fighters. Adventurers who died under dubious circumstances, and some who chose to stay by Lord Stormborn's side rather than moving on. I could see why. The woman inspires true loyalty wherever she goes.

The Bastards of None seem to be the only ones who do not swear fealty to her. They sailed the seas, and none of us knew if that was a good idea or not. When I asked her about it, Lord Stormborn just said that they’d been given a hard enough deal, and they kept the oceans clear of Skullywugs and Krakens. It led to me asking her what would happen were I to be killed in Shadowfell, as I was. It made me surprisingly uncomfortable to hear that she did not have an answer for that.

I will have to be careful where I walk, even though I want to explore every corner of this realm. I did not get much time to do so the last time I was here. But I do not want to be unmade fully. I do have a lot to do, and I want to keep Qwiksus safe, since I could not do so before. He seems unaware of the moment of his death, but all too aware of what his body was doing without his control. It both relieves me and bothers me. I wonder if he will remember me killing him. I wonder if he will ever forgive me if he does.

We will cross that bridge when we get to it.

For now, I will do what I always have. I will read, I will study. I will keep on striving to improve both myself and this place.

I will miss Gladeholm so very much that it makes my unbeating heart ache unnaturally. I want to live again, but at this point, it seems unreasonable. 

At least Bubbles has remained by my side. I did not know she knew how to Planeshift, but there she was when I walked through. Rubbing up against my ankles as if she had never left. She was no longer skeletal, a ghostly form of the cat I had lost as a boy. I am both relieved and terrified as well. She does not seem to resent my presence, at the very least. It is nice, to be able to pet her once more, and to have her company in this dark place. Were it not for her and for Lord Stormborn, I might have gone mad. Well. More mad than I have already gone..

No, that was not me. That was Plague, the Horse sent upon the world by Thiala to destroy the new Legendary Heroes.

I wish I had been stronger.

I wish I was still there to defend the realm. Because if it falls, this place, too, will fall. I will do my best to learn as much as I can in the remaining days before Thiala’s return. 

Fuck her. Fuck her for putting us all into this situation. Were it not for her I would still be...

No.

I have to stop blaming others for things I have done. None of that now. I made it, almost, to the end of the Apocalypse. Thiala would be returning soon, after all. Had it been a day since my body had been destroyed? With the way the Bloodstar shines upon Shadowfell, the night bleeds into day. No, I do not think she has already returned. I believe we have some time. Less than a day. Possibly hours until our last hope goes to march on a God. The daughter of Lucanus, fearless and yet full of such worry for her friends, a bold half-elf full of the insecurity of loss, and a halfling teenager who did not deserve this weight.

The tension is palpable here, like a thunderbolt seen from miles away making the air feel like static. Before, I did not think it was possible to make the Undead afraid. Yet, here we are, in the realm of repentance. Was it repentance? Was that not reserved for our realm? This seemed more like a resting place for lost souls. A holding cell for the damned. 

(there is an ink blot, perhaps a pause in writing as the quill drips)

In truth. Despite brave words. I did not want to die. I was not done. I just could not bear the Paladin bearing the weight of my death as well as the weight of the world. Death is not frightening, not to me, but I have so much work to do. Had I ended up in Erathis’ arms, at least that would be finality of some type, but Shadowfell feels like half an answer. Uncertainty has never settled well with me. Would my sins be judged by what my body did, or what my mind did?

Would I be judged for Jolene? Would Hell claim my soul for the wrong I’d done to her? 

I do not want to wait. But it is all I can do. I cannot provide them with help. I cannot leave this place. I can only leave my words in the vain hope that, if they should fail, or fall, or join me here in this purgatory, then perhaps the next heroes can learn from them and not make the same mistakes I did.

And most importantly, know the importance of it all. The most crucial words one can speak.

Fuck.

Thiala.

**Author's Note:**

> I think every thing I write on Erdan has to be named another Necromantic spell.


End file.
